When Dreaming Ends
by vkdemon
Summary: Challenge Fic - Inspiration from Moulin Rouge song  One Day I'll Fly Away.  Live life from dream to dream.  One Shot


SONG: One Day I'll Fly Away - Moulin Rouge

TITLE: When Dreaming Ends

AUTHOR: vkdemon

PAIRING; past Kurt/Blaine past Kurt/OC

RATING: R for Dark Themes

WARNINGS: if applicable VERY VERY SAD

NOTES: Posted for the porcelain_fans livejournal community Challenge located here http:/ community .livejournal .com/porcelain_#cutid3

SUMMARY: Live life from dream to dream.

A pale beautiful boy looked out on the city of lights below him. It was Paris.. or Milan, or Rome, they all looked the same. Another beautiful ancient city, perfect night with glittering lights below him. The long champagne flute balanced in his long fingers. His body was thin, the long pale blue tailcoat pinching perfectly at his waist and the pattered blue cravat with circular golden pin matched perfectly to the vest pulled tight against his chest. His hair was whisped and gelled into a whimsical upsweep that added the final layer of elvish elegance to his ensemble. He was otherworldly, but really wasn't that what he was supposed to be? He was the lovely tragic figure bringing light to the world. He was beauty incarnate and his story was ever so sad. So young, so lovely, and so fashionable. He would be a tragedy.

Isn't that what he'd always dreamed of, to fly away from Lima and shine? Well he was shining now. The whole world could see him glisten and burn in a flash of brilliance. And then nothing. He'd placed his friends a lifetime away in Ohio and had never dreamed of them. He'd dined with kings and dukes, been to tea with the Queen of England and was allowed to design a frock for her. She'd made him a knight of the realm: Sir Kurt Elizabeth Hummel. It was like a dream. Everyone in the world wanted a piece of his time.

He sipped at the champagne. He had tasted the most exquisite delicacies in the world, escargot, Quail's eggs, Fugu... so many that he couldn't remember. Most of them he didn't like very much. Most days nothing would make him happier then to have his father's macaroni surprise. It was horrible calorie-wise and was simply macaroni and cheese with crushed up frosted flakes on top. It sounded delicious.

He could conjure it now if he tried. His father smiling in the ridiculous white frilly apron tied around his pudgy middle, his bald head coming up with mismatched potholders on each hand. He'd place the casserole dish on the trivet that Kurt would run to grab before Daddy burnt the tablecloth again. Kurt's feet would hang off the chair because he was only 9 and not yet tall enough. He would dig into the gooey slightly burnt meal and thank his father. Too bad he hadn't seen his father in almost 2 years. He should send flowers to the grave-marker.

There was one good thing about his father's heart condition. He never had to see how thin Kurt had become. He had trimmed down to mere bones, his wrists impossibly thin. It was nothing to be worried about. He'd always wanted to be thinner in his youth. He'd even gone so far as to attach to fad diets. He chuckled, remembering when Mercedes had caught him fainting in senior year. She had tutted and preached him into a therapist's office. He'd sit in that comfy room with warm comforting pictures and wax on about wanting to find a boyfriend and wanting to get out of Lima so his life could start. He would rather be there in that room then over whatever city he was in now. If he were there then his worries would be whether he should try to win Blaine back in time for prom or if it was better to go Stag.

Prom, what a riot. He'd worn the most beautiful Alexander McQueen silk brocade long tailcoat with huge black silk lapels. His cravat had been of a matching blue as his eyes and then there was the peacock design on his coat. He'd looked stunning and went stag to the McKinley High Prom. He's looked at the hulking boy constrained in a improperly fitted black tux who approached him. Dave Karofsky had asked him for a dance that night in his low rumble of a voice. He'd accepted and all of his attention had been focused on his shock that the man didn't step on his feet and that Karofsky knew how to waltz... well. He should have given the boy more slack. He should have kissed him on the dance floor instead of dismissing him like the ice queen he was. He might have been able to have his first time that night under the hands of a man who nearly worshiped him instead of with a one night stand the first week of college with some random guy who hadn't the care to use a condom. He wondered if Dave had been with a man by now, if he was happy. At least he could have lovers. Kurt could feel another dream imagination shatter as a cold wind shuddered through him.

Kurt turned to the sound of a voice calling his name. Blaine... ah sweet dapper, distant Blaine. It was all due to Blaine that he was here. The preppy boy had learned of the news and immediately arranged the charity. He had raised money and had been the one to fly him all over the world. Blaine who always said that science was advancing at the speed of light, that he had plenty of time to live. Blaine who stroked his dreams and let them flourish. He couldn't keep dreaming anymore.

Blaine's voice became concerned, an edge of panic creeping under those gentle words. Kurt didn't want to live in dreams anymore. Blaine reached out to Kurt, promising things that would never happen, promising they could just live in peace, that he'd do anything Kurt wanted, that he'd make everything better. It was a beautiful dream. Kurt knew it was his last moment and he was going to have his swan song.

"One day I'll fly away

Leave all this to yesterday

Why live life from dream to dream

And dread the day when dreaming ends

One day I'll fly away

Fly fly away... "

He stepped off the ledge above Paris or Rome or Milan... Sir Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, deceased at 22 years of age at a charity event to raise money for AIDS research, a condition of which he was a victim.


End file.
